


So Well Hidden

by Silvestria



Category: Sanditon (2019), Sanditon - Jane Austen
Genre: All The Tropes, F/M, Jane Austen would roll her eyes, Regency, Regency Romance, set after 1x05
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-10-26 10:42:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20740895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silvestria/pseuds/Silvestria
Summary: “The young lady has taken the last room.”Sidney glanced down at Miss Heywood who was biting her lip and looking almost apologetic in a way that made him-“How fortunate!” he exclaimed instead, turning his grimace into a grin. He took Miss Heywood’s arm and drew it through his own, ignoring her squeak of surprise. “This is my wife.”In which Sidney and Charlotte meet in London and things go exactly the way you would expect.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Considering how freely Andrew Davies is dealing with the source material and how full of tropes it is, I feel no shame for writing fanfic in the same style. Enjoy!

Sidney did not know why he even bothered being surprised. Wherever he was, especially if he did not want to be found – there was Miss Heywood.

Miss Heywood and her unwanted opinions and assumptions.

If she walked in on him shitting, at this point it would barely merit a twitch of his eyebrows.

Fortunately that was not the case here.

Nevertheless, when he walked into the private sitting room at The Blue Boar in Clapham, expecting to find Georgiana, and found Miss Heywood instead, he had to admit that he did feel a certain amount of surprise.

To give her her due, she did not look very surprised at all to see him. She even looked relieved… but _that_ was hardly possible, was it? He could not expect to be so fortunate.

“Ah – Mr. Parker!” she exclaimed, leaping to her feet as he entered the room and his eyes lighted on her. “I’ve been waiting for you!”

“You have?”

“Of course. I knew you would take the same steps I did to find Georgiana so it was only a matter of time before you caught up with me.”

How in hell had the infuriating woman beaten him to it? He swallowed his irritation and cast a glance around the room.

“You’re here alone?”

“As you see. You can hardly imagine Mary would have come with me!”

The way they had left things at the cricket match, Sidney would not have been at all surprised if Mary had run away to London with her young visitor.

“But does she know you are here, Miss Heywood?”

Her eyes slid to the side.

“For goodness sake!” Sidney exploded. “She’s responsible for you in the place of your parents! It’s been two days, Miss Heywood – _two days_! She must be worried frantic. What on earth do you think-”

“I wish you wouldn’t lecture me so constantly!” she interrupted him. “_I _am not your ward to waste so much energy on scolding and protection. Not that you are very effective even where it is your responsibility.” Her expression fell. “I should not have said that. I am very much afraid for Georgiana.”

“Do you know anything? Mrs. Blair led me to believe she was here.”

“Yes, that is what she told me this morning but I have spoken to the stable boys here and I believe she left for Dover with the same two men.”

Sidney’s expression hardened.

“Dover?”

“Yes.” Miss Heywood took a step towards, her hands twisting in front of her. “You know what that means, don’t you?”

He did. He knew exactly what it meant and all his worst fears for Georgiana from the moment he had heard of her being bundled into a carriage by two men were being proven only too accurate. As it was, he gave Miss Heywood a short nod and strode away from her to the window. He had to think and it was very hard to do that clearly when he was looking at her.

“Wait here,” he ordered her and abruptly left the sitting room.

“Hey!” he yelled for attention, stomping out into the yard. “Anyone? Inn-keeper!”

Miss Heywood, he noted out of the corner of her eye had followed him out despite being told specifically to stay where she was. Of course she had.

The inn-keeper approached from an out-house. “Sir?”

“How many miles to Dover?”

The inn-keeper scratched his chin. “Dover? Ah, seventy maybe. Eighty? No more than eighty.”

“And the dark young lady who was here earlier with the two gentlemen, at what time did she leave?”

He considered a moment. “She did not stay for refreshment so - about two hours before this young lady arrived, I think.”

“And when-” insisted Sidney impatiently.

“I was here by three thirty,” put in Miss Heywood quickly at his side

And now the light was failing fast. Well, they would not have got to Dover before having to break for the night. If he left early in the morning on the fastest horse, he would catch them up before they could put her on a ship.

“I’ll need a room,” he told the inn-keeper.

“My apologies, sir. We’re very busy at the moment – market day tomorrow.”

Devil take him and his inn and market day too!

“The young lady has taken the last room.”

Sidney glanced down at Miss Heywood who was biting her lip and looking almost apologetic in a way that made him-

“How fortunate!” he exclaimed instead, turning his grimace into a grin. He took Miss Heywood’s arm and drew it through his own, ignoring her squeak of surprise. “This is my wife.”

The inn-keeper, to do him credit, was not unintelligent: he clearly did not believe this for a moment. “She said her name was Miss Heywood.”

“It-“ began that lady rather breathlessly.

“You must have misheard. She is _Mrs. _Heywood,” lied Sidney pleasantly before she could do anything as foolish as tell the truth. He followed up the lie with a substantial handful of banknotes.

The inn-keeper took the notes, looked at them dubiously, then pocketed them with a shrug. “Must have done. It’s room four. Welcome to The Blue Boar, Mr. Heywood.” He wandered off, no longer interested in them.

As soon as his back was turned, Miss Heywood pulled her arm out of his and took a step back. Her mouth was set in a determined line, her eyebrows pulled together, but her eyes were wide and luminous.

“What do you think you’re doing? We are _not _married!”

“Thank you, I had noticed. But it’s too late to pursue them to Dover tonight and I need to stay somewhere. Besides, how exactly do you intend to avoid attracting attention as an unmarried, unaccompanied lady? This is for your own protection as much as anything.”

Her expression settled even more mulishly but underneath it there was something else. “Well, if you must know, Mr. Parker, it may be for the best after all. I was hoping you would follow me here for another reason. You see, I – I don’t have any more money. If you had not come, I would not have been able to keep the room tonight.”

“No more money! Good God!” He closed his eyes a moment. “And what would you have done then, eh? Where would you have gone?”

She met his eyes briefly and something inside of her crumbled. “I don’t know. I thought I would have found her by now.”

It was getting late. He didn’t know about her but he wanted food. He sighed. “Come on, Charlotte, let’s go inside and get some supper. There’s nothing else to be done tonight.” He gestured for her to precede him.

This she did but not before shooting him a quick, nettled look. “At least don’t call me Charlotte!”

Her prissy objection amused him. “Would you prefer Mrs. Heywood?”

“Yes, I would!” Her chin stuck in the air and she marched back inside into the private sitting room they had recently emerged from. “If I must.”

“In that case, you must leave off calling me Mr. Parker.” He flung himself into an easy chair by the fire.

She perched herself on a hard chair, hands folded on the table that acted as a barrier between her and the rest of the room, between her and him. “What should I call you then?”

“Sidney if you like. _I _don’t mind.” He dared a taunting grin at her. “Or perhaps you’d rather call me Mr. Heywood, like a good matron.”

Her nose wrinkled. “Mr. Heywood is my _father_.”

“And would I assume correctly that the good Mr. Heywood and I are not very alike?” he asked smiling.

“You assume correctly.”

A rosy blush was beginning to colour her cheeks but the corners of her lips were tugged upwards.

Sidney tilted his head back and stretched out his legs, enjoying the warmth of the fire. He was starting to think that there were worse ways to end a long and troublesome couple of days and worse company to find himself in.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm honestly blown away by the response to this fic both here and on tumblr. _Sanditon_ fandom, you are THE BEST. Thank you for all the comments, kudos and reblogs. I appreciate it so much. I hope you enjoy the next chapter!
> 
> I also realise there's an error in Chapter 1 - rewatching the scene, I noticed that Charlotte does leave a note for Mary. I will probably change the bit of dialogue concerning that later.

The inn provided soup, roast ham, vegetables, a pint of ale for Mr. Parker and wine and water for Charlotte. As she had not eaten all day, this was very welcome indeed and she found it easy enough to forget about her companion while eating.

For someone whose presence it was impossible to ignore altogether, Mr. Parker did not, as so many other people did, require her to make an effort at conversation. She supposed it was because he disliked her so much and had so little respect for her opinion but it did make things easier.

By the time her hunger was sated, however, and the wine had warmed her, she was able to feel conscious of the awkwardness between them. No matter his relatively easy acceptance of her role in looking for Georgiana when he had arrived at the inn, she could not get his final words to her in Mrs. Griffiths’ parlour out of her head. They had haunted her in the carriage all the way to London and they haunted her still.

_“If anything happens to her – anything – it will be on your head.”_

Of course she felt responsible, how could she not? Georgiana was her friend and all she had wanted was to give her some happiness. She had not wanted to do anything improper.

(Though perhaps she had wanted to aggravate Sidney Parker as well.)

She had neglected to play her part. She had forgotten Georgiana just at the moment when she needed her the most. And all to play cricket.

(Though perhaps she had wanted to aggravate Sidney Parker as well.)

All the same, mixed in with the feelings of guilt and worry and regret was a small but strong feeling that she was hard done by. Why had Mr. Parker had to shout at her and her alone? Was Georgiana’s disappearance really only her fault? Could not some blame be laid at the feet of Mrs. Griffiths who Charlotte knew to be a dreadful chaperone? It had been amusing when they had been manipulating her themselves, but it was hardly entertaining now. What about Georgiana herself? Charlotte had never been in love so she could only relate Georgiana’s passion for Otis Molyneux to what she had read about in books and certainly they had both been treating the whole affair like an episode from a novel. She supposed people in love did very foolish things but _why _had Georgiana not waited for her as they had planned? Why had she gone off on her own? It had been very foolish of her! And surely those despicable men, whoever they were, who had bundled her into the carriage in the first place ought to take at least a little share of the blame.

Really, it was very unfair that he should be so angry with _her_.

“Penny for your thoughts, Miss Heywood,” came Mr. Parker’s voice idly from the chair by the fire to which he had retired after he had finished eating.

“I was thinking about Georgiana,” she replied after a moment to collect her thoughts. “I am trying to understand what really happened.”

He was watching her steadily, his expression hard to read. “Go on.”

“Mr. Molyneux was to come to Sanditon just for an hour to see Georgiana. They were not going to run away together!”

“How do you know?”

“Because- because that was not the plan!” But could she really be sure of that? “They only wanted to see each other for a little while. Nothing untoward would have happened.”

Mr. Parker snorted.

“What?” Charlotte protested, making a face. “Is that so unlikely? Must everything be sordid with you?”

“You think a pair so desperately in love as they claim to be would be content spending a mere hour together and then parting to see each other who knows when?”

“Yes,” retorted Charlotte.

Mr. Parker opened his mouth to reply but changed his mind. He huffed as if there was something very amusing about her steely response, nodded once and merely said, “Very well, perhaps you are right. Let us assume such self-control exists. Continue.”

How infuriating he was!

“If Georgiana was following the plan we made, where was Mr. Molyneux? And who were the people who took her? And why should they take her anyway? Who knows she is in Sanditon? Why would she speak to strange men in a carriage in the first place? I cannot understand it at all!”

“Has it occurred to you that it is Molyneux who took her? I told you, Charlotte, I _told you _that he was not to be trusted, that he was not what he seemed! And now you profess to be puzzled by Georgiana’s fate!”

“Yes! Because your reasons for mistrusting him are so bad! It is hardly his fault that he was born into slavery, that his skin is the colour it is!”

Mr. Parker made an impatient gesture. “Will you stop parroting that nonsense?”

“It is not nonsense! You would say that because-”

“Be _quiet_, will you? _Listen _to me, damn it!”

“Are you going to tell me you have a better reason for forbidding the match?”

“I have very good reasons for it, I assure you, but they are none of your business!”

“I think they are now, don’t you?”

At some point, both of them had stood up and they were now glaring at each other across the room. Charlotte’s hands were trembling and she clenched her fists so that he would not see.

Mr. Parker held her gaze for several charged moments before heaving a sigh and looking away. Charlotte felt an unexperience surge of triumph that he had backed down first. It felt like a peculiar kind of victory.

“I have no objection to Mr. Molyneux as a human being, not for the colour of his skin nor his origins. I find him a tediously sentimental fellow and I struggle to believe his passion for Georgiana will endure but beyond that I have no objection to him if she really likes him. I can even admit his pursuit of her to be at least somewhat disinterested. There – do you believe that?”

“It is sufficiently disagreeable that I believe it is something you might think,” replied Charlotte.

“So much for his character. But his business affairs are less spotless. Molyneux has considerable debts. Debts he amassed in the West Indies to a few - _gentlemen_ \- who are not so generously disposed towards him as you or I and who will not hesitate to do whatever it takes to ensure they are repaid one way or another.”

Charlotte tilted her head, her eyes narrowing. “One way or another?”

“Georgiana’s fortune was well-known to them before she arrived in England.”

“I think I understand you. They have taken her as a way to get at poor Mr. Molyneux. And you knew about this. She would be in danger from them if she associated with him.”

He sketched a small bow. “Your powers of comprehension are a credit to your sex.”

She shot him glare. “But if she married him, they would not be able to use her.”

“And what do you think would happen to her £100,000?”

“Isn’t that her decision? If she wants to use her fortune to pay his debts so that they can live happily and safely together, why shouldn’t she be allowed to? What use is a fortune if you cannot help the one you love with it?”

Mr. Parker rolled his eyes. “And that is why, Miss Heywood, I am her guardian and you are not.”

Charlotte’s anger was dissipating as quickly as it had arisen, something that seemed to happen regularly whenever she was in close proximity to Mr. Parker. It was very vexing and put her continually off kilter as nothing else did. But now she became aware that she was still standing, looming over the table. She looked around but did not much fancy sitting down again in front of the remnants of dinner or sitting across the fire from Mr. Parker when neither of them had so much as a newspaper to hide behind.

“I think I shall go to bed,” she declared, shoving her chair away and crossing to the door. “Good night.”

“You forget I am sharing the same room… wife.”

For a blessed moment she had indeed forgotten that. She paused a moment on the threshold before drawing in a breath and gathering strength. “Knock before you come in then.”

He assented and she escaped the sitting room and found her way to room four, a tolerably sized room with a bed, dressing table and chaise longue. Charlotte had no change of clothes, so she removed her dress, stays and stockings and folded them up neatly with her pelise on the table before getting into bed in her chemise. It was not ideal and she regretted not taking a larger bag. Still, she had managed tolerably the last couple of nights.

Once in bed, she pulled the blankets up to her chin and lay on her back staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. She wondered how long Mr. Parker would be as she did not think she would like to fall asleep before he came up. Or perhaps he would stay out all night. Maybe he would get drunk; it seemed like what young men did in inns from her experiences in London the previous night in a different inn with alarming shouts from under her window. Thank goodness her door had locked!

But it would be too bad of him if he did not come up… and then what? She assumed he would sleep on the chaise, but it would not be very comfortable at all. He would not be able to undress at all – not that she wanted him to. And no doubt it would be very cold, even with the fire. What a sorry business it was; it was so unfortunate the inn had not had a second room free.

A knock came at the door. Charlotte had been almost drifting off against her better judgement but jerked awake at the sound. “Come in!” she called as quietly as she dared.

Mr. Parker opened the door, stuck his head round to see her encased in bedclothes as if she were laid out for burial, and quickly closed it behind him. Charlotte watched him sit on the chaise and pull off his boots and tailcoat followed by waistcoat and cravat. As he was unknotting it, he looked up and saw her watching him. Charlotte flushed and averted her eyes.

“Don’t be alarmed,” he said, his voice sounding deep in the otherwise quiet of the bedroom. “You will have no more shocks to your modesty.”

“I didn’t – I wasn’t thinking –”

He chuckled under his breath and Charlotte wondered how he could be so mercurial in temperament. He was nearly tolerable when he was good humoured.

She moistened her lips. “Will you be happy on the chaise? I am sorry it is so short and you are so tall…”

“Happy? Unlikely, but it will only be for a few hours. It will have to be an early start.”

That made sense. They must not lose sight of their goal.

“Leave the curtains open,” she suggested. “Then the dawn will wake us.”

He nodded and stood up. He folded his own clothes, cravat on top, and placed them next to hers on the dressing table. She watched the billowing of his shirt over the muscles she knew were underneath as he moved and her eyes lingered on the two neat piles of clothes next to each other. Something twisted in her gut and she felt suddenly that the room was very close and oppressive. She wished the chaise a little further away.

Mr. Parker paused at the foot of the bed and looked down at her. Immediately she screwed her eyes shut, even though it was impossible she had fallen asleep so quickly.

She heard him sigh, then – “Good night, Charlotte. Sleep well.”

Charlotte decided it was safer not to reply but she heard the chaise shift a little as he sat down and tried to make himself comfortable. She could not help feeling a little guilty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I don't know what the deal with Otis is. I'm inclined to believe him to be sincere in his feelings but there's something about his sentimental expressions of love that strike me as phoney. Is he just a Romantic or is there something else going on? And where do Georgiana's kidnappers fit it? I don't know! This is all just speculation on my part. Anyway, we're not here for the plot, right? :P
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter! <3


	3. Chapter 3

Sidney could not sleep. His feet were dangling off the end of the chaise, moonlight was streaming through the windows, and the spare blanket he had found in a chest kept slipping off him. Over on the bed, he could hear Charlotte’s soft breathing and occasional sleepy snuffle. It was impossible to think of her as Miss Heywood now, not when she was only a few metres away in nothing but a chemise, though he knew this made distancing himself even more essential. She really had no idea at all what she was doing to him.

After another ten minutes of trying and failing to get comfortable – ten minutes which felt like several hours – Sidney stood up and padded over to the bed.

Charlotte was curled up in a ball on the far side of the bed, the blankets cocooned around her. She had left so much space, it didn’t seem reasonable… What harm could it do if he could just get a little rest for half an hour? She would never know.

Sidney lay down on top of the covers as far from Miss Heywood as he could get, folded his arms over his chest and closed his eyes.

He awoke to bright sunshine streaming through the windows, an unexpected weight on his chest and something thick and stifling brushing against his mouth.

What the-?

He opened his eyes and immediately came to himself. He cursed silently.

So much for only lying on the bed for half an hour. He had fallen deeply asleep and while he was still lying on his back, somehow in the night Charlotte had shifted in her sleep so that she had ended up with her head pillowed on his chest, her hand curled onto his shoulder, and her thick hair spread across his face. Apart from gently removing her hair from his mouth, Sidney was frozen in place, his heart beginning to pound so rapidly he felt sure she must hear it and wake up.

It was not the first time in his life he had been obliged to extricate himself from underneath a sleeping bedfellow but this was the first time his desire to do so had been so exactly inversely proportional to the urgency of the situation. Her little hand was so soft and clinging, almost like a child’s. That she could be so unguarded in such a position around him… it was a new sensation. How had he never noticed just how long her lashes were? He raised the hand that was not trapped under her as if to touch her face and then quickly let it fall. He drew in a breath and sighed, grimacing at the ceiling. This was all very bad.

He must have breathed particularly deeply, for Charlotte stirred on his chest and Sidney groaned at the inevitability of the next few minutes.

She awoke, she stiffened, then she shot up, pulling the bedclothes up from under him to cover herself so violently she almost dislodged Sidney onto the floor.

“Mr. Parker! What are you doing? Get away from me this instant!”

“Why, good morning, Charlotte!” said Sidney with a superior smile, half on half off the bed, showing her just how composed he was by the entire situation and how embarrassed she ought to be.

“_Miss. Heywood_,” she grit out and shoved him.

Sidney got the hint. He grabbed the spare blanket as he was forced onto the floor, draped it inelegantly around his middle and rushed to the door, grabbing his boots as he went. “I’m going to wash,” he informed her with a glare and slammed the door behind him.

He proceeded to stick his head under the water pump in the yard for five minutes, much to the amusement of a pair of idle stable boys.

By the time he returned to the room, Charlotte had disappeared. For a moment, he felt a panicked fear that she had actually run off but then he saw she had left her pelise, bonnet, and travelling bag behind. He dressed properly, checked the time on his pocket watch and finally went back downstairs.

“Mrs. Heywood is in the private sitting room,” the landlady informed him when she met him in the hall, carrying a large pot of coffee in one hand and a basket of rolls.

Sidney thanked her and entered the room, to find Charlotte presiding over an excellent spread of food, entirely in control of the situation and with the air of a prim matron. Even her hair, scraped back into a severe bun, was sending him a clear message.

“Thank you, Mrs. Weston, these rolls do look delicious. That will be all,” she said with a gracious smile before turning towards Sidney as the landlady deposited her dishes and retired, her expression becoming a little more vulpine. “I took the liberty of ordering for you, my dear.”

Sidney tried not to gape at her.

“That – that’s very kind of you.”

“Won’t you sit down? We’ve got a long day ahead of us if we’re going to catch up with Georgiana and those monsters who have taken her. We should eat well.”

She took a fresh roll and began spreading it vigorously with butter before helping herself to a generous portion of scrambled eggs and ham.

Sidney drew back a chair and did as he was bid, eyeing her progress though her breakfast in between bites.

“Coffee, Mr. Parker?” she asked him breezily.

He glanced automatically over his shoulder but the door was closed. “Thanks.”

She poured gracefully for him and then for herself. “I assume you have a plan. When do we leave?”

“_I _leave. You stay here,” replied Sidney, knowing perfectly well how this would go down.

“Absolutely not. I’m coming with you. In fact, I have been doing better than you so far – did I not get here before you yesterday?”

She looked far too smug about that. “Is this all a game to you, Miss Heywood?” he growled at her over his coffee cup.

“No – of course not. I only meant… never mind. But I am responsible for getting Georgiana into this mess and I intend to be the one who gets her out of it. So you mustn’t for a moment think of leaving me behind.”

“What do you suggest we do then? For speed is of the essence and you will only be a liability on the road.”

Charlotte leaned back in her chair and fixed him with a stare so insolent and calculating she could have been a commanding general.

“Hire horses and ride as quickly as possible along the Dover road, stopping at every inn until we catch them up, of course.”

Sidney blinked. “That was what I planned too. But you can’t possibly think of doing that yourself. You will be too slow.”

“I’m a very good rider, Mr. Parker.”

“I’m sure you are!” he replied very quickly. “But they may not have a ladies’ horse and saddle.”

“Then I’ll ride astride. You think I haven’t before, growing up in Willingden?”

“I…” Sidney was struggling with the mental image and downed his cup of coffee, burning his tongue.

“That’s settled then.” Charlotte stood up. “I shall enquire about horses. You may settle the accounts, Mr. Parker – but by all means finish your breakfast first.”

As she came round the table, she paused next to him, making him tilt his head back to look up at her. He was not sure what to make of her scrutiny but made no movement to force her to move on.

“About earlier,” she said eventually, “you really must not concern yourself. I’m sorry if I appeared flustered. I do understand that sort of thing is quite common in the mornings.”

At this, she swept out of the room leaving Sidney in her wake, thoroughly silenced. He wondered briefly whether he had better put his head under the pump again but settled for another cup of coffee instead. He rather hoped Charlotte would be unsuccessful in her petition for a horse but within five minutes, she was peeking back into the sitting room, triumph written on her features.

“They have found me a horse, a ladies’ horse, and I have been assured she’s a forward going mare, so I shall be able to keep up with you easily.”

At this, Sidney pushed himself out of his chair and left the room, purposefully passing her so close in the corridor he almost but did not quite brush against her. He bent his head to hers and, before he could consider the wisdom of such provocation, said in a low voice with a hint of a challenge in it, “I’m looking forward to it, Miss Heywood.”

A brief raise of his eyebrows and he was gone, stamping out into the yard and calling for the innkeeper and his horse, leaving Charlotte leaning against the door jamb, her hand pressed to her breast and her cheeks flushed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once more for your kind comments and kudos! I appreciate it soooooo much. <3
> 
> My aim is to finish this before it's all Jossed on Sunday. We'll see! I expect it'll be about six chapters and I know where and how I'm going to end it now. Always good to know what you're aiming for! I ended up splitting this chapter because it was going to be very long otherwise and frankly I need sleep!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for leaving you all hanging, especially considering your kind comments and kudos! Real life came at me with a vengeance and left me with no mental energy or emotional ability to write but some of the things hanging over me have sorted themselves out (including giving a talk on Jane Austen to my local JA Society branch!) and as there's no new _Sanditon_ tonight (boooo) I thought the least I could do was write another chapter and update!
> 
> Obviously this is AU now but I hope you will enjoy anyway. A better ending than episode 8 is guaranteed!

The hired mare was just as forward going as the inn-keeper had promised and for the first ten minutes or so of their ride, Charlotte had enough to do adjusting to riding a strange horse. She was a good rider – it had been no idle boast – but she had not been in the saddle all the time that she had been at Sanditon and she was woefully dressed for it. Her thin white muslin dress provided little padding and within minutes she could tell that she would chafe and rub. This was unfortunate, but she was determined not to complain or show any sign of discomfort. She did not want to jeopardise her part in the rescue mission in any way.

Mr. Parker set the pace at a canter as soon as they were out of the confusion of market day in Clapham. He did not seem inclined to speak, for which Charlotte was grateful, though he occasionally shot her an inscrutable sideways glance, as if checking to see if she was still there. Charlotte made sure always to meet his eyes boldly when he did this and to show absolutely no appearance of embarrassment.

The truth was, however, that she was somewhat embarrassed and the boldness was a cover for unfamiliar shyness. To have woken up with her head pillowed on his chest, to have had her first breaths that morning an inhalation of woodsiness, smoke and something indescribable yet distinctly masculine… it had been overwhelming and no amount of pretending to be aloof could wipe away those unforgettable sensations. The fresh air and exercise did admittedly help, however.

“We should give the horses a break,” said Mr. Parker suddenly around mid-morning, slowing to a walk and giving his horse a long rein. Charlotte followed his lead.

“I think there’s an inn up ahead,” she said, pointing at a stone building surrounded by trees further along the road.

Mr. Parker made a noise of agreement and they walked their horses a few more moments in silence. This felt tense rather than companionable and Charlotte was aware that he was studying her.

Eventually he asked her, “Would you like to stop at the inn for some refreshment? Are you tired?”

Charlotte sat up a little straighter. “Not at all. If Georgiana has been seen here then we must continue onwards until we find her.”

“Very well.”

Was that all? Charlotte did not know how she wanted him to have reacted to her selflessness, but she felt frustrated all the same.

At the inn, she did not bother dismounting but led the mare to a water trough along with Mr. Parker’s horse while he went inside to make enquiries. He returned a few minutes later looking in a better mood than he had arrived in.

“They spent the night here,” he told Charlotte as he mounted. “And Georgiana had her own room.”

They were both keenly aware of the importance of this fact without needing to say anything further. With renewed vigour, they set off on the next stage.

All through the day they pursued Georgiana and her captors, always one step behind them. At least they were easy to trace. In the middle of the day, they stopped in a village for food. Charlotte devoured the bread and cold meat and ignored aches in her muscles and the places where the saddle had predictably rubbed through her thin dress. Mr. Parker drank quite a large quantity of ale.

By the late afternoon, the horses were exhausted and so was Charlotte. She had never been in the saddle for so long before in her life and she ached so much that she almost wanted to cry. But a glance at Mr. Parker made her press her lips together. She would not show weakness.

They reached another inn in a small village. Clearly there was some event going on for bunting was strung up across the street and the place was busy. Charlotte dismounted and left both horses with a stable boy to stagger after Mr. Parker inside, desperate for any kind of break.

“Oh yes!” said the landlord in response to his queries, “They were here an hour ago. Wanted rooms for the night and when I couldn’t oblige, I pointed them to the King’s Arms in Netherholt just five miles down the road. We’re all full up here and so is the Hopbine due to the Bagshaw wedding tomorrow.”

“Only five miles!” exclaimed Charlotte at the same time as Mr. Parker said, “What – no rooms at all?” with a glance at her.

“Only one,” the landlord explained, “and they were after two.”

“Fine. We’ll take it,” he said. “See to our horses.”

“What?” protested Charlotte. “But we can catch them up – they’re only – ”

“Yes, and they will still be there in the morning. We can take Georgiana when it’s early and leave for London straight away.” He lowered his voice. “Charlotte, you can barely stand.”

She was supporting herself on the counter of the bar throughout this interaction and he was also leaning against it. His hand was inches away from hers and he reached out and touched hers, his bare fingers warm and reassuring even through her dirty gloves.

“Today, you have been – you’ve been quite extraordinary. You cannot imagine how you have appeared to me.” He looked down to his hand on hers and swallowed. “Please – listen to me now. Get some rest. You’ll be good for nothing if you don’t. And Georgiana will need you tomorrow.”

Charlotte barely breathed as she gazed at him, enraptured. Her stays felt too tight and her head swam. He had never said anything like that to her before, never showed such confidence in and appreciation of her abilities. And the truth was that she was too shattered to argue or respond. She thought she might burst into tears if she did. So she only nodded once, looking away from him before she betrayed herself too much, though she feared it was already too late.

“Good.” Mr. Parker cleared his throat. He stepped away from her, his hand leaving hers reluctantly. “Is there anything you want or would you just like to rest?”

Charlotte made an effort to pull herself together. There was one thing… “I wonder,” she addressed the landlord more than Mr. Parker, “if I might have a bath?”

“Of course. I will have hot water sent up to your room, Mrs. –“

“Parker. Mr. and Mrs. Sidney Parker,” interrupted that gentleman before Charlotte could formulate a response. He did not look at her and Charlotte’s heart gave a sickening lurch that was not altogether unpleasant.

Half an hour later found Charlotte lying back in a metal bathtub in front of a roaring fire in the small, back bedroom that was the only one they had left after the Bagshaw wedding guests had filled up the rest of the inn. It was decidedly inferior to their previous night’s room with no space for anything more than a small round table and hard chair after the bed and wardrobe, but in that moment Charlotte could not care less. Her hair was loose, her dusty and soiled dress had been slung hastily on the floor in her effort to rid herself of the stench of the stables and travelling and her muscles were finally loosening and relaxing. The fire flickered and crackled in the grate, Charlotte tilted her head back against the lip of the bath and her eyes closed of their own accord.

She awoke, disorientated, to the slam of a door and a muffled curse, sitting up and splashing cold water over the sides of the bath as she scrabbled for grip. The room was in almost complete darkness save for the embers of the fire and a fresh candle left on the table. Mr. Parker’s silhouette was standing rigidly, facing away from her, one hand shading his eyes. Instinctly Charlotte clung to the side of the bathtub to shield her modesty.

“What are you doing here? You knew I was having a bath!”

“Almost three hours ago!” replied Mr. Parker in a strangled tone. “I thought you must have finished by now. I wanted to know if you wanted any supper. I did knock – twice, for what it’s worth.”

Charlotte shivered uncontrollably. She was stiff once more and the thought of putting her dress back on to go and sit uncomfortably with Mr. Parker in a private sitting room sounded thoroughly unpleasant. Besides, she was more sleepy than hungry.

“I don’t think so. Thank you.”

There was an awkward silence. He did not seem to know where to look or what to say.

“Will you leave now, Mr. Parker?” Charlotte begged after an excruciating moment.

This appeared to galvanise him. “Ah – of course. I beg your pardon, Miss Heywood. I did not mean to intrude.” He turned as if to bow, remembered her situation, and swiftly left the room.

Charlotte shivered again and sighed. She extricated herself from the bath, dried herself quickly and put her shift back on. Her dress and spencer she hung over the back of the chair and placed that in front of the fire, which she stirred up until a steady, warm heat was once more emanating from it. Finally, she climbed into the bed and endeavoured to get warm.

How much had he seen? The room had been dark, but he had had a candle. She had been all sprawled out in the water. Nothing would have been left to the imagination… not unlike when she had seen him, _all _of him, after his swim. Her cheeks burned at the memory but she could not help wondering now what _he_ had thought of _her_. Nobody outside of her family and Mary’s maid had ever seen her naked and since she had grown up she had taken pains to avoid being caught unawares even by her family, though with so many siblings accidents inevitably happened. Certainly no gentleman had ever seen her and she had not thought that any would until she were married, assuming she ever did marry. But things were turning out rather differently to how she had imagined them, and her mind returned unbidden to waking up that morning, her face pressed into Sidney Parker’s shirt.

About half an hour later, a knock was heard on the door. Charlotte, who had been utterly unable to sleep, whose toes had not yet fully warmed up and who was filled with far more tension than she ought to have felt after so long a bath, felt relieved at the end of speculation. “Come in!” she called.

Mr. Parker entered the room and closed the door behind him. He glanced around quickly. “No chaise tonight,” he commented.

Charlotte was watching him anxiously. “You might as well sleep here. I don’t mind.”

He turned to look at her, the light from the fire throwing the sharp lines of his jaw and contours of his face into sharp relief. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Do you have any better?” she snapped back, feeling unaccountably rejected.

He levelled a stare at her and she met it, feeling a frisson of energy pass between them. “Very well,” he replied eventually and sat down to tug his boots off. Charlotte turned onto her side, feeling uncomfortable watching him.

“So it seems we’re even,” he commented a few minutes later, the creaking of the floorboards indicating his preparations for bed.

“Are we? How?” replied Charlotte, still turned towards the wall.

He chuckled. “I think you know what I mean. I hope you don’t feel embarrassed, honestly. I would never do anything to damage your reputation, I assure you.”

Except pretend to be married and share a bedroom with her two nights in a row?

Outloud, she said, “Good.” She pulled the bedclothes closer round her and scrunched up the sheet into her hands.

She heard him sigh and then felt the mattress dip as he sat down on the other side of the bed.

“Miss Heywood- damn it, I wish you’d let me call you Charlotte. It seems so- so-”

“You may called me Charlotte, if you like,” she said almost into the pillow, squirming even further towards the edge of the bed. The closer he got to her, the more aware of him she was and the more uncomfortable she became.

“Charlotte then…” He paused and she knew he was lying down for she was forced to resign some of the bedclothes. “Charlotte, you were magnificent today. When you were riding… you were like an Amazon princess. You are simply the most incredible, brave, strong woman I have ever known. Charlotte…”

He touched her shoulder and she flinched and shuddered.

“Won’t you look at me?”

“Must I?”

“You’re angry with me. Well, I deserve that.” He sighed again. “I’m sorry, Charlotte. For all of it. Even if I cannot agree with your methods you were only trying to be a good friend to Georgiana and you’ve succeeded better at it in a matter of weeks than I have in years. You are not to blame for what happened but you have done more than anyone else would have done to help and all I have done is try to push you away. I should have known better and I’m truly sorry. Forgive me, Charlotte.”

“You won’t try to stop me any more?”

“I have no right to try.”

For a long moment, Charlotte could not reply, at war with herself. Then she turned over onto her other side and found her face a matter of inches from his.

“Don’t you?” she murmured, and before he could do more than open his mouth to ask what she meant and before she could lose her nerve, she closed the gap between them and kissed him.

His lips were soft and warm, pliant under hers. She had shocked herself and having initiated the kiss she did not know what to do and remained motionless, paralysed, heart thumping so loudly she was afraid she would combust. Then, as if a dam had broken, his hands were on her face, in her hair, on her waist, and he was kissing her with slow, feverish intensity. Charlotte was lost; it was all she could do to clutch at him, her arms wrapping round his neck and kiss him back. She rolled onto her back, pulling him over her, feeling him press her into the soft pillow until she felt completely cocooned between him and the bed. Nothing had ever felt more thrilling, more alarming, more natural.

With a gasp, he tore his lips away from hers and rested his forehead against hers. “Charlotte,” he mumbled hoarsely against her skin. “Tell me to stop. Tell me to get out. Tell me to leave.”

“No.” She held him to her more tightly, pressed her lips to cheek, his ear. “I don’t want you to.”

He groaned so deeply that she felt it all through her own body. “Don’t say things like that. “

“Stay.”

He kissed her again, lingering but refusing to open his mouth to her. Then he pulled away from her again and flopped onto his back. Charlotte sighed at the lack of contact and curled into him, threading their fingers together.

“We can’t do this.”

“Why not?”

He shifted to put a bit more distance between them. “Must you ask? Because you’re a young lady and there are boundaries I will not cross. Your reputation-”

“I don’t think my reputation is worth much any more, if it ever was worth anything,” Charlotte confessed. “Not since I ran away from Sanditon on my own. Anyway, according to the everyone at the inn we’re married. I’m _Mrs. Sidney Parker_, don’t forget!”

He met her eyes with such a look of naked longing that she could not breathe until he looked down and raised their clasped hands. He surveyed her bare left hand. “And according to _this _you’re nothing of the sort!” He raised it to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “I’m going for a walk. Get some sleep, Charlotte.”

“I –”

He tugged his hand out of hers, letting it fall empty to the coverlet and got out of the bed, reaching for his boots.

“No, don’t argue. I’ll be alright, I’ve had worse nights. But if I stay here, I’m not sure…” He turned back to her, unable to finish the sentence.

Charlotte pressed her lips together and managed a nod. “I understand.” She was not sure, however, that she did altogether understand.

Certainly, she reflected once he had left, there was no chance she would be able to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Do I know where this is going? Sort of. But please send me any requests for fun tropes you would like to see and I will endeavour to oblige!
> 
> Kudos to anyone who knows where the title is from!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed and let me know what you think! You can also find me on tumblr at [@charlotteheywood](https://charlotteheywood.tumblr.com).


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